Sundered
by Varda's Servant
Summary: Every being must pass on, in one way or another. The grief then is great. But when an unexpected passing happens, the grief becomes deadly.


Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Never did, probably never will. But that's alright, cause I'm not making any money off this. It's all just for fun.

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed my last LotR ficlet, I'm glad you all liked it. Feel free to review this one as well. :-P It was beta'd by the lovely, wonderful Aranel, who puts up with all my nonsensical word and contraction useage and kindly corrects me. Rather than whacking me with a great big clue-bat as I sometimes feel I deserve.

Now, go read the story. Shoo!

* * *

_Let the rain fall down_

_And wake my dreams_

_Let it wash away_

_My sanity_

_Cause I wanna feel the thunder_

_I wanna scream_

_Let the rain fall down_

_I'm coming clean_

Come Clean

He wept, cradling the shell of his friend. Dead orcs littered the clearing, broken bodies splayed in pools of their own, and other's, blood.

How long had he been sitting there? He did not know.

With a detached morbid fascination, he watched small streams of blood wend their way slowly from where he sat towards other such pools. The only difference between the one which journeyed and the destination was the color.

Red merged with black, a thick oozing mud replacing the presence of blood or soil, Arda soaking away the grievous crime laid out before any who cared to look.

A rumbling in the distance spoke of a storm to come, a flash of blinding light reflecting over the landscape.

It was this that woke him from his stupor, his aching grief creating a void within his spirit that he knew would never be filled. He had lost more than a friend, more than a brother, this day. The one whom he held had been closer to him than any walking the earth.

Looking up as another lightning bolt announced its presence; he realized just how dark it had become. It seemed as though the Valar had bestowed upon him a fury and darkness of nature to match that which now flooded his soul.

He understood something about Elladan and Elrohir now. He had known it before, as the head knows the reasoning of the heart. But now, with the grisly scene laid about him in mockery of everything he desired with all his soul, everything he had been raised with and believed in, he _knew_.

He _knew_ the fiery pain of a breaking heart, shattered beyond recognition. He _knew_ the feeling of flesh cold where it should have been warm. He _knew_ the rage to destroy, to kill and kill and kill, and to never cease until all the scum that had hurt his friend were gone to eternal sleep and the judgement beyond.

He _knew_ that every sunrise henceforth would be witnessed coldly, emptily. And he knew that no matter how much he wished it, he could not follow the one who had left. It was not possible. There was too much here to bind him. There were those who loved him, his brothers, his father, his betrothed.

Cold, pelting drops were hitting him hard enough to sting now, thunder rumbling as lightning split the sky overhead. Somewhere, a deep boom sounded. Somewhere, a tree had died, hit by mischance and very bad luck.

Slowly, Aragorn climbed to his feet. He clutched Legolas tightly to his chest, half-afraid the elf's body would fade away in his arms, would melt in the rain that poured down upon them.

Slowly, despairingly, the man began the journey home.

* * *

Elrond watched his foster son. The man had not eaten nor slept since his return to Imladris four days ago. 

There had been rites for the fallen prince, performed outside; Legolas' body laid in a small glade near the borders of Elrond's realm. The twins and Estel had watched over him until the body had faded to nothing. There was no grave for him; there was none needed. All would remember one whom they loved.

Tear blurred Elrond's vision, he allowed them to fall. They fell for many minutes, the pain in the Peredhil's heart easing some with the release.

How he wished Estel could find the same. But that was not to be.

Remembering his own pain when his beloved wife had been brought back to him, the Lord of Imladris slowly made his way through the halls of his home and out to where Estel sat among the trees. He was cradled in one of the Prince's favourite spots, a dip and curl in a large oak's roots that made a natural seat, a place to recline and watch the stars.

After three days of rain, the storm had abated.

How he wished the storm in his youngest son's heart could be swept away so easily.

"Come inside." Elrond watched closely for any sign of response. There was none, not even a flicker. "Please, Estel, you must eat and rest. Killing yourself like this will not bring him back."

"No, it won't." There was a cold bitterness to the words, and pain, a lot of pain. "Nothing will bring him back. No matter how many orcs I kill he will not return. Nothing can erase his defilement, and it cost him his life."

"This was not your fault." Elrond's tone was gentle but firm.

"I was the one who sent the letter. It was my own request that brought him here. It was my selfishness that bought him pain and death. I was the one who ki-"

"Do not _ever_ say that. Never again Estel. It was _not_ your fault."

The elf lord slowly knelt beside the mortal; a hand reaching out and slowly turning Estel's chin so that the man was forced to look his father in the eyes. "It was not your fault."

"He called for me. I could hear him screaming my name, begging me to save him, to help him. Then there were just screams. And then, not even that. And even after I killed them all, he did not know me. I held him as he died, and my every touch hurt him. Yet I could not bring myself to release him. I only wished to let him know I was there. I failed even in that."

Bowing his head, the man wept, sobs wracking his body.

Gently enfolding Estel in his arms, Elrond gave the man the comfort that he needed. As the sobbing eased, Aragorn slowly relaxed. After long moments of silence, Elrond spoke again.

"It was not your fault."

Estel pulled away, not in anger or recrimination but grief. "I know. And that is what hurts the most."

* * *

He stood in the clearing once more. The bodies were gone, burned by the Imladris elves, the blood and fluids washed away. It had been a week since his conversation with his father in the gardens, a week for his aching pain and grief to settle somewhat. It had rained on and off during that week and it was raining now. 

_The stars weep for you my friend. The sun and moon hide their faces in grief, and all the trees grow still. You were much loved._

As the rain fell harder, more tears streamed down his face. He had wept three times, once holding the body of his friend, once in the warm, safe arms of his father, and now, finally releasing that which ate at his heart and soul.

Turning his face to the sky, Aragorn screamed. He screamed his rage and his pain. He screamed out the darkness that threatened to take his soul and kill his heart.

He screamed in farewell.

As he screamed, he felt something else, some presence nearby. His throat raw as he stopped, eyes searching as he turned, Aragorn felt his heart lurch when he saw a familiar figure standing nearby.

"Legolas." The whisper was cracked and broken, but audible.

With a smile, Legolas approached. As he did so, Aragorn noted that the rain fell through him, that he glowed more than usual, that the forest was visible behind the incorporeal form.

Legolas stopped an arm's length away from the man, a smile touching his lips. "I have come to say farewell too, my friend."

"No, don't go. Please…"

"We no longer have that choice. Do not despair, Aragorn, we will see each other again." A considering look passed over his face then, and the dead elf smiled sadly. "It was not your fault. Do not blame yourself."

Mutely, Aragorn shook his head. Legolas sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Ever disagreeable. Are you willing to contest me? To argue with the dead?"

Feeling well out of his depth, Aragorn nevertheless smiled. "I argue with Glorfindel. Why should you escape the same?"

Musical laughter rang through the clearing. Soon, Aragorn joined in, the two friends sharing a final moment of camaraderie. As the laughter died down, the man spoke once more. "I will miss you."

"And I you. And since I am gone, make sure you keep the twins on their toes. They shall get lazy if you do not."

Nodding, Aragorn felt a lump rise in his throat. "Nan lu i agovada nin, mellon nin, sidh am gen."

"Garo bost vaer."

Confused, the man opened his mouth to reply. Suddenly, he realized that he was no longer standing, but lying on the floor of the clearing. The ground was damp, but the sky was clear, the sun shining through the trees.

As Aragorn lay there, he realized that the aching void within him was gone, replaced by a sense of peace and comfort. The breeze stirred gently, seeming to carry a soft voice whispering to him.

_I knew it was you…_

A lone tear spilled from his eyes, and Aragorn smiled.

"Le hannon, mellon nin."

* * *

_Translations:_

_Nan__ lu i agovada nin, mellon nin, sidh am gen: _Until next we meet, my friend, peace be upon you.

_Garo__ bost vaer: _Sleep well.

_Le hannon, mellon nin: _Thank you, my friend.


End file.
